Chapter 11
Darren
Work seemed to move slower than ever on Thursday and Friday. I knew that was because I finally had something I was really looking forward to.
I wasn’t sure what would come of my evening out with Bailey if anything at all. Was there even something I specifically wanted to happen? I felt lucky that she was still in Rome, able to be taken out for food and beer. Reminiscing with her at Bart’s was fun, and I was hoping that we’d be able to continue on from there.
I was also thinking about what had happened after I’d let her crash at my place the other night. I couldn’t pretend like I wasn’t still attracted to her, and I’d be lying if I said the idea of us having sex hadn’t crossed my mind. But, even though the thought of us making love again had occasionally strayed into my imagination, I wasn’t going to instigate anything without knowing we’d be okay. I wasn’t only looking out for her feelings; I didn’t want to get hurt, either.
I changed out of my work clothes and put on a nice pair of pants and a button-up shirt, the usual attire I wore whenever she and I had gone out to things like that before. I drove up to her father’s house and parked, expecting her to come walking out to me.
As I waited, I thought back to when I’d come here to check on Wayne and what I’d walked into. It was surreal to know that if I were to ever knock on that door again, Wayne Wright wasn’t going to answer. It also made me sad realizing that, most likely, someone unrelated to Bailey was going to be living in that house one day soon.
Instead of honking my horn or texting her, I decided to do the old-fashioned thing and go up to the door. Just as I was about to knock, Bailey opened the door. I was blown away by how stunning she looked: Her hair was pulled back and curled, she was wearing a short blue dress, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup.
“I’m so sorry,” she said in embarrassment. “I look absolutely—”
“Gorgeous,” I finished in awe.
She rolled her eyes but seemed flattered. “Please.”
“You ready to go?”
“Hell, no!” she said. “I’m not even close to being ready.”
“You could’ve fooled me,” I said.
“You want to come in for a minute?” she asked.
I smiled. “Sure. And I swear—you look totally amazing.”
“No, I don’t,” she insisted. “But, thank you.”
She rushed back toward her bathroom, leaving me to see the changes she’d made to the living room since I last saw it. There were pictures and photo albums everywhere. Clearly, Bailey had been digging through decades of memories in the wake of her dad’s passing. Many of the loose photos had Wayne in them, but as for anyone else in the pictures with him, I was unsure of their identities.
I found a photo album marked “1995-1999.” I felt sure that I would find pictures of a young Bailey inside, and I wasn’t incorrect in my assumption. I’d seen a couple of the pictures before, hung up around the house. Most of the pictures I hadn’t seen also had Bailey’s mom in them.
“I’m not a masochist, I swear,” Bailey said as she saw me looking at pictures.
“There’s nothing wrong with going through memories,” I said. “I’d do the same thing.”
“I found you in a couple,” she said. “Not in the album you’re looking at. Another one.”
“I forgot how many pictures your dad took.”
“If he wasn’t taking pictures, my grandpa was,” she said. “Or my grandmother. After my mom died, I was the one that usually took the pictures.”
“No one in my family ever took pictures,” I said. “Even I don’t take that many. I’ve never even taken a selfie.”
She snorted. “Come on. Everyone takes selfies.”
“Not me,” I assured her. “Honest. I don’t take them. You can look through my phone if you don’t believe me.”
“That’s just sad!” she said in disbelief.
“Is it? I always kind of think people are a little self-absorbed whenever they do that. No offense.”
“None taken,” she said. “Once you start becoming famous, taking selfies is almost a requirement.”
“Did we ever take any before you moved?”
“I don’t think so.”
I glanced at a series of pictures of Bailey and her parents at a water park together having fun. Beaming, I closed the photo album.
“You ready?” she now asked me.
“Absolutely.”
There were more food trucks downtown than had ever been there before. The variety was extreme, and the lines getting to any truck were remarkably long. I was happy about both of these circumstances because it allowed us to carry good conversation steadily as we hopped from truck to truck, waiting for several minutes at a time before we could even order our meals.
“So, do you like working at Mel’s A/C?” she asked me.
“Sure,” I replied. “I like working with Garrett and the other guys. I get great hours. Make a pretty good salary every year. It’s sweet.”
“What do you do when you’re not working?”
I shrugged. “Mostly just chill. Drink a beer, watch TV, play Call of Duty or something.”
She frowned and scrunched her face.
“What?” I asked.
“I guess I’m just curious if that’s what you really want to do.”
“I don’t just play Call of Duty.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she said. “Do you still play any instruments?”
I nodded. “I can still play guitar and piano. Haven’t played in a long time, though.”
“Why not?” she asked.
I shrugged again. “I have to focus on making money. I have to wake up and go to work five—sometimes six—days a week, and by the time I get home, I’m too tired to do anything. Music’s taken a backseat for me.”
“That makes me really sad.” She sighed.
I cleared my throat. “Well, come on, you’re the musician here. Obviously, it’s your life. Tell me about a typical day in the life of a celebrity.”
“I’m not a celebrity.”
“You will be soon, and you know it,” I told her. “Seriously, though. Tell me what you do on a normal day.”
“I’m usually either writing music at my apartment or messing around in the studio near my place,” she answered. “I’ve been doing things independently for years, but it looks like I might have a contract here soon.”
“That’s really spectacular.” I held up my hand and we high-fived each other.
“I might,” she stressed. “Not sure if I want to sign with this label or not. I’m feeling indecisive.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll make the right decision,” I said. “So, what do you do for fun when you’re not doing music?”
“Go out to parties, hang out, and chill,” she replied. “Leah’s become my Garrett. She’s glued to my hip. We do almost everything together.”
I chuckled. “And, she’s your manager? Y’all never get sick of each other?”
“No, you’d think that would’ve happened by now,” she said and laughed. “I guess it sounds kinda boring the way I say all that though. I’m trying to go back over the past few years, and I don’t really have that much to say about it. It’s almost sad.”
“You’ve been busy,” I said. “It’s hard to make work sound fun, even if it’s what you want to be doing.”
“I have to say, I figured you’d be married by now or on your way to it,” she said to me. “You’re such a catch. I thought some girl would’ve been smart and snatched you up.”
“There aren’t many girls that are my type,” I said. “I haven’t been all that interested in dating. But you, now. So many guys have been checking you out all night, and I know it’s gotta be heavier over in Memphis. How come you haven’t settled down? You want to be a free spirit or something?”
“I want to be in love,” she said while looking at me with her mesmerizing eyes. “Most guys either don’t want something serious, or they don’t know how to treat a woman. Honestly, for me it’s mostly that guys just want to use me—for my money or my body, it doesn’t matter. I guess I’m turned off to it, too.”
“That makes me really sad,” I said.
We got to the front of the line and ordered soup in a bread bowl. It was hot and creamy, warming up my entire body on the first bite.
“This is fucking awesome,” I said with a mouthful of soup.
“Try mine,” she said holding out her spoon.
She had broccoli-cheddar, and it was even better than my vegetable. We devoured our soup and our bowls like we were starving. We got in line for a truck that was serving Mexican food.
“I heard your new song on the radio recently,” I told her.
She blushed. “What’s the verdict?”
“It might be my favorite song you’ve ever put out,” I answered honestly. “If you don’t mind me asking, what inspired it?”
“A lot,” she rsaid. “Not one situation in particular.”
“Ah.” I nodded.
“Did you think I’d written it about a specific guy or relationship?” she asked with a knowing grin.
“Not really,” I lied. “Just curious.”
We continued our feasting and our light chatting well into the night. We headed to where I expected a movie to be played for the masses as usual.
Instead, on that night, there was a fireworks show going off in the sky. It was indescribably perfect. All of the lights downtown and by the trucks had been turned off, and the noise from the crowd had died down. There was only darkness, stars, and colorful streams of fireworks exploding above us.
Bailey and I were lying down in the grass, like many others. Many around us were filming the fireworks on their phones, but she and I remained entirely in the moment, wishing that the moment would never end.
But, all good things eventually conclude. As the show was hitting its grand finale, our eyes finally glanced away from the sky, and they met. We never blinked, and our mouths grew more agape the longer they didn’t become one.
We resisted temptation, and our torture ceased once we heard the silent crowd erupt in applause. We licked our lips, constantly looking down and then back to each other. I wanted to brush the hair out of her face and hold her so badly.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said.
She held a pondering pose for several seconds before she said, without looking directly at me, “I don’t want to be alone tonight. I really don’t want to stay at my dad’s house again by myself.”
I couldn’t have been given a wider window if I’d asked for it.
“You could stay over at my house again if you’d like.”
She nodded, still not looking at me. “Okay.”
During the ride back to my house, I was in an internal debate about what to do. A major reason why I’d refrained from things the other night was because we were drunk. However, with us both sober, that was no longer a roadblock. I kept telling myself that if we messed around, our feelings had great potential to be hurt again. Yet, the more I glanced over at her in the passenger seat, the less I cared about what made sense or what was appropriate. I wanted her so badly, and the longer she stayed in Rome, the harder it was for me to restrain myself.
I parked the Focus in the driveway and turned the car off. We both sat there, unmoving. Our eyes were staring straight ahead, but we were both riding the same wave.
“I’m going to take the couch tonight,” said Bailey.
I looked over at her, silencing every voice yelling in my head and going with my gut. She looked at me, her lips inviting me.
“I know you’re a gentleman, but I really don’t mind,” she said. “It’s your house, and it’s silly to have you not sleep in—”
I reached over, grabbed her, and pulled her into me. I kissed her soft, tender lips, instantly remembering how succulent they were and how well they fit with mine. We held it for what felt like an entire minute, and then, we began to open our mouths and slowly become reacquainted with each other’s taste.
I felt her hand on the back of my head. At first, I thought she was going to stop me. Then, I felt her tugging lightly on my hair. I moaned into her perfect mouth.